Moving On
by Josy
Summary: In which Casey deals with Olivia's sudden absence immediatley after 8.01. OC, OA implied. Comments are my cocaine, people.


I dyed my hair for her. It's the first thing, the only thing I can think of. I dyed my hair for her, and she didn't even tell me she was leaving. Is this what she felt like when Alex left? No final note, no reassurance, not even a goodbye. What am I saying? I know the story. Alex moved heaven and earth to be able to say goodbye. I got nothing, absolutely nothing. So I'm here in the squad room with Elliot staring at me, and all I can think of is the fact that I hate my hair blonde and she didn't even say goodbye.

"So she didn't say goodbye to anyone? You didn't get a phone call? An email? A letter?" Hey, look at that, look at me all able to speak. I don't give myself enough credit. It's going to be ok. If I can speak even now, if I can speak without sounding weak and shaky it's going to be ok.

"Casey, I told you when you called this morning, I got nothing. No letter, no phone call," Elliot barks. He looks paler than I, and that's never good. I wonder if this is hurting him more than me. "So you're in the dark too?"

"I guess so," I say. We stare at one another, nothing to say, nothing to think, just empty, aching, and hollow. Is he thinking of her? Is he thinking of the last time she'd left him? The last time she'd abandoned him without warning? Partner abandoner. Fuck buddy abandoner. I love her. He loves her. It should have driven us apart, but it only brought us closer. I didn't care if he wanted to sleep with her- he wasn't. He didn't care if I fucked her- she'd never open up to me the way she opened up to him.

It's always been that way, right from the beginning. They're the one's who shared that 'crime scene horror' bond anyways. Yeah, I saw pictures, yeah, I met with the victims, but that first moment, that first raw, uncensored look into a new case was something I never experienced. I never spent hours in the hospital as women experienced a second, sterile violation in the hopes that with proof, with evidence, they'd be vindicated. I never had to tell fathers their little girls were not only never coming home, but had been tortured and mutilated beyond reasonable belief. She went to him dying inside, unable to see anything past death and mistakes and unforgivable failures, wanting his steady gazed allowance of her self-hatred.

She came to me wanting to live. I never had to deal with all her issues. She got it all out of her system, and then she'd come to me. Eyes burning, she'd show up ready to live again, ready to reignite. Sure, she'd still have issues swimming around her head, but for some reason, after Elliot, she could handle it. But he never got to see her naked, never got to hear her breathing quicken, stop, then come out all in a rush. He never got to hear her scream. Actually, she only ever screamed when she was frustrated with a case. When she was happy, when she was comfortable and confident and not fighting away ghosts and demons and victims she was a moaner, a low, breathy moaner. It was her screams, though, that sent shivers down my spine.

So I guess we shared. And now here we are, sharing absence, sharing nothing.

Alright, I've looked away, and he's still staring at me, and even with the emotional moment we just shared it's creeping me out. Quick, break the moment. I flip my hair back over my shoulders. Good one, Case. No wonder people think you're an idiot. He blinks, grimaces, and rubs his hands over his face. Maybe it was a grin. I can't really tell.

"I should have told her to take some time off. She was burning out. Shoulda realized," he says. I'm suddenly extremely annoyed by his self pity. Come on Captain Mopey Pants. It's not your fault she left. She wasn't burnt out- seriously, Olivia Benson burn out? Hardly. It's the FBI's fault she left. And it's not our fault she didn't say goodbye. Really. Not our fault. Not my fault.

"Well, I should have started wearing glasses."

His eyebrows knit together as he asks "What are you talking about?"

"I know what Cabot looks like- blond hair, blue eyes, trademark glasses. I figured I wanted her, and she had a thing for blondes."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he puts on his interrogation face. "But you were sleeping with her before you dyed your hair," he commented. Damn. Olivia had told him more than I'd thought. Bitch. One more thing to add to my list. She's going to have an earful, when she comes back. If she comes back.

"I realized eating her out in my office wasn't going to keep her attention long. I thought the hair would help. But I guess it was the glasses that would have sealed the deal. If I wore glasses, I might have earned a goodbye. "

All right, so it was meant to be funny and it just sounded trashy. Thank God almost everyone's gone home by now. Maybe I should be worrying about being so explicit in public. Maybe he'll laugh. I wait for a reaction- throwing in gratuitous sexual imagery has to count for something, right? Yeah, that did it, definitely a grin this time. "Yeah? Maybe I should have too. I knew something was missing after the first time she went AWOL."

"Worn glasses, or eaten her out in my office?" I ask.

"Both at the same time," he deadpanned.

"Might have worked except for the whole, you know, penis thing". Look at us, witty repartee. Crude, slightly desperate repartee but repartee nonetheless. Maybe I'll try it with the whole damn squad- everyone could use a smile right about now. On second thought, maybe not. Munch would probably take it too far. But look at us. Look at us moving on, making jokes, being asses. Who needs Olivia Benson? Certainly not Elliot. Certainly not me. Damn it.

We're silent a moment more, Elliot staring at his desk, slouched in his seat, me perched on the side of Olivia's as I'd done so often since joining SVU. Same ol', Same ol', except not at all, because it's not her desk anymore. Is she even really gone? Am I sure this isn't some joke? Maybe she'll be back soon. The FBI can't keep her forever and oh man, then is she in for an earful. Maybe Elliot and I can share that, too.

I gotta stop thinking about this. It's useless now, anyways. Time to move on. Cry later. Much later. If ever. She's gone, and she didn't say goodbye, and now at least I can get rid of this platinum look I've been sporting.

"You gonna be ok, Elliot?"

He glared at me. Damn it. Broke the code. Elliot's ok. Elliot's always ok. She's only been gone for a day, and you're already forgetting the squad room lessons she hammered into your head? Lesson One: Olivia is always fine, until she say's she's not, which is actually sometimes fun because it means she'll be more aggressive later. Lesson Two: Elliot is always fine, and don't even think about asking him if he's not, because then he's not only fine, but he's pissed and fine.

"'Course. You heading home?"

"Nah, gotta pick up a few things first,"

"Don't get too drunk, Case."

"I'm just picking up some hair dye. Don't need to worry about a certain cop's blonde fetishes anymore."

He tilts his head, waits a second, and says "Casey. Some advice?"

"Yeah, what?" I ask.

"Skip the drugstore. Barbie's better than Raggedy Ann any day."

Is he kidding? No, not kidding, though he is smiling- smirking? Is he flirting? He knows better than to go there, doesn't he? But I don't want to get mad at him. It's late, Olivia's gone, and he's currently the best friend I've got in sex crimes, and hey, remember how witty repartee is a good thing? I wince, remembering the curly monstrosity I had during my first days working with SVU, and realize he's got a point.

"Ok. Goodnight, Elliot,"

" Night, Barbie."


End file.
